An Uninviting Host
by NotYourTypicalEmily
Summary: Arthur has always had night terrors, he'd gotten used to them. But now this one seems a bit too real.


An Uninviting Host

He didn't remember how he had got there. All he knew was that his head hurt a lot and the room was far too noisy for his liking. At first, his vision was blurred, bleary shapes and objects clouded his view and he felt his pulse hasten to speed up and his face flush. Warm breath tickled at his neck and whispers echoed through his ear in a language he wasn't familiar with, a pair of lips brushed at the nape of his neck and a hand went around his waist and he suddenly felt a lot more safe. Then there was just laughter. The room was full of laughter. It reverberated around his head, flinching, he ran a hand through his hair, feeling the heat of his forehead radiating through his fringe and warming his hand. He blinked and suddenly it was all so bright and clear. There were people dressed up to the night, laughing, drinking and socialising. Each of them wore masks that cut off just before their lips so their words and laughter rang clear like a bell. His hazy eyes fluttered and he shook his head, trying to make sense of it all but to no avail. That breath on his neck had gone and he felt a lot more alone.

He got up hastily, his knees almost buckling, and began to look around the room. No one took much notice of him, it was as if he wasn't even there. At first it was fiercely irritating but he began to smile despite himself, some days he prayed to be invisible, it seemed much more peaceful and now that he got that he was still not satisfied. He sniggered. _Picky bastard_ he thought to himself. After only a few seconds of wandering aimlessly, he looked up to see two figures clothed head to toe in black excluding their masks which were china-white, each of their lips were upturned in bemused smiles and even though he couldn't see them entirely clearly he knew that they were staring at him. The taller of the two leaned over the banister and chuckled before raising his voice.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the famous, prestigious British Empire," all eyes fell on him. The onlookers laughed in unison, he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment but still stared at the two indignantly, his heavy brow furrowed and his hands balled into fists. The other figure shook it's head and continued chuckling before shooting the taller a look that made it raise it's arms for silence, the room instantly plummeted into obscure quietness. Smiling gently, the smaller nodded, it's hands rose into the air also.

"Ah but please do not be so quick to judge, my Ladies and Gentlemen…" he knew those voices, he just couldn't place them, "Remember all the countries he once possessed, right Alfred?" Seemingly out of the blue, a man appeared by his side and the mask slid off his face and came crashing down, an ugly crack decorated it now, the face hidden by the cover was now revealed. Aqua eyes blinked at him, strong cheekbones but a generally boyish face was exposed. America. The now exposed man glared at him with harsh intensity that made his chest tighten.

"And do not forget about the people who trembled under his glare, I implore you…" Masks came crashing down, everyone was exposed but the two figures drenched in black. Jeanne d'Arc. Spain. Napoleon. Owain Glyndwr.

The two figures began to slink down the stairway, reminiscent of black cats in an alley, their lips were still in that amused expression that started to grate on his patience. They almost danced between the crowd, their steps were soundless, nothing could be heard and the silence he usually relished had become his worst enemy. They were close now, almost touching him. The taller grinned broadly before grappling at his chin and tilting his head up so it could look him in the eye.

It tuttted, "Even him.. You even hurt him, didn't you Britain?" Now the room's occupants had began to nod eagerly and the warm breath was on his neck again, he turned. Face to face with France. His eyes grew wide, the other nation looked at him with such angst-ridden pain. He shook his head and closed his eyes, trying to forget the other's dismayed expression, hoping that when he opened his eyes again he wouldn't see France stood with his head hung in such sorrow but once he opened them he was greeted with the same sight. He tried to open his mouth to speak but his lips were dry and his throat coarse.

"He doesn't even remember us, does he?" the smaller cooed.

"His own brothers. The one who raised him up until he got all _famous,_" two more crashing noises. He turned again to see his too brothers stood there. Their eyes, identical to his own, were taunting but their expressions were also sad, pitiful ones. The smaller, Wales, stretched out his arms,

"Ladies and Gentlemen, believe us! It truly is the great British Empire!" his melodic accent filled the room's silence and was edged with irony. Scotland mimicked his actions,

"Do not be swayed by his pasty, lean, pathetic appearance, my dear Ladies and Gentlemen! For he truly is the monster that you feared all those years ago!"

The room was now full of harsh voices, chanting just one word as though it was a holy incantation. Every time it was uttered, it felt as though acid had been poured over him, the walls began to close in and the exposed figures disintegrated, though their voices remained.

_Monster._

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"Arthur…Arthur, wake up mon cher…"

He felt a pair of strong hands shaking him gently. His eyes were heavy and hard to open, his pulse rushed and his head reeled unwillingly. The shaking ceased and instead one of the strong hands proceeded to brush his choppy hair gently. He turned over and felt his chest tighten as he found France smiling gently at him, perched precariously on the edge of his bed. His eyes quickly went over every feature, there was no hint of sadness hidden in any part of his face, for that at least, Arthur was thankful.

"You woke him up?"

"Sorry about this again, Ffrainc, it's hard to get him to come around when he's having a night-terror…"

He looked over his companion's shoulder. There stood his brothers, the tormenting hosts in his dream. However, their faces held no mocking smile, no hidden sorrow, they were simply concerned and rather embarrassed.

"Always been like it," continued the eldest, shaking his head and laughing so that auburn hair splayed all over the place, "Had to pour freezing water over him once, still took him about ten or so minutes to come around." He barked out a boisterous laugh. France gave a fleeting chuckle and ran a hand through the other's sweaty mop of hair before going to turn and leave. As if on it's own accord, his hand went out and grasped at the Frenchman's shirt, the room was quiet, the occupants looked upon him with concern. He licked his chapped and dry lips before whispering,

"Please don't go.."

France's eyebrows shot an inch up his forehead, he turned to face the elder brothers, admittedly the taller didn't look very pleased by the whole arrangement and had just gone back to lighting his cigar but the smaller shrugged and smiled as if to say 'Well what can you do?' before wandering over to the bedside and dragging the smoking brother with him.

"Night Artie," he said gently before elbowing the other to do the same, he coughed and spluttered before catching his cigar as it flew out of his mouth.

"Yeah.. Yeah, night Arthur," and with that they left the two alone. France sighed and shifted to look at the nervous wreck that was Arthur, shaking slightly underneath his quilt. He smiled gently and maneuvered himself into sheets before putting an arm around the smaller, running his hand down his back as if he was soothing an infant.

"I'm really sorry.." he buried his head in the Frenchman's chest, taking him aback a bit but nevertheless, he allowed the smaller to stay there.

"For what, cher?" he murmured, his stubble brushing the other's forehead.

"Everything," he spluttered out, tears spurting down his cheeks in an unattractive manner, France tilted the other's head up so he could see them.

"Hey now…Shush shush, there's nothing to apologise for…"

"What about Jeanne?"

France froze. They barely talked about the woman anymore, it had been so long ago but the pain still struck a chord with him, he bit his lip before saying shiftily in a monotone,

"That was a long time ago…"

"But I'm sorry for it anyway! A-and Spain's armada, I'm sorry for killing them… And scaring America away! I'm sorry for it all, I swear. I'm sorry for forcing my brothers to speak a language they hate and join an empire they hated even more and, and…"

"Quiet," Francis said, bringing his face level with the sobbing nations, "If we were angry with you about those things, would we still be around and talking to you? It was a long time ago, you were acting by your country and doing your job. Even so, you're not like that any more."

"I'm sorry…."

"Angleterre, if you say that you're sorry one more time I'll have to slap you upside the head," he chuckled before pressing his lips chastely at his forehead, "Now I'm going to be hear until you fall asleep…"

"And when I'm asleep?"

"If you want me to stay I will, if you have anymore night terrors, do you know what you should think?"

"No…What?"

"Think that you have two very strong brothers who are always just across the hall if you need them and one Frenchman right next to you who will wake you up if it gets too scary, okay?"

Hesitantly, Arthur nodded.

"Good, now go to sleep."

His eyes closed shut and he heaved a sigh of relief, suddenly, as if noticing something, those eyes opened again and he looked France dead in the face, "I still hate you frog."

"Yes, yes. Je t'aime aussi."


End file.
